


We are just too different

by AlexZorlok



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canon Compliant, M/M, This is objectively funny I wrote it for the laughs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 18:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexZorlok/pseuds/AlexZorlok
Summary: Jack is pacing around the room, fingers of one hand brushing anxiously through the blonde locks at the very base of his braid. His voice is quiet, just a tip above a whisper, but in a vast room like this it still echoes off the walls. He trusts Oswald to listen in with all his might, anyway. Oswald has always been a patient listener.
Relationships: Glen Baskerville | Oswald Baskerville/Jack Vessalius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	We are just too different

**Author's Note:**

> So uh. A friend of mine was joking in the group chat and came to the premise that included most of the dialogue from this fic. I then said that if this was jackwald, it could even be canon compliant so uh. Here it is! For my other friend Mer, also :)

“This is just not going to work.”

Jack is pacing around the room, fingers of one hand brushing anxiously through the blonde locks at the very base of his braid. It’s almost gone undone by now, after all the running. He’s been sweating a lot lately, too, and all this playing with his own hair certainly doesn’t do it any better. He stops. He’s standing with his back turned to Oswald, and he lets the slight frown that’s been lingering on his face relax into a sad smile. Not quite relax, no— this is hard on him, too, he desperately wants Oswald to know that, more than anything, but this small smile is just easier on his face. It’s like when you finally let yourself cry, and, as the tears start running down your face, all the tension slowly fades, although the heartache doesn’t in the slightest. Jack feels the same right now, even though his face is completely dry— all the frowning just doesn’t do him any good.

He does sound sad, to give him some credit. His voice is quiet, just a tip above a whisper, but in a vast room like this it still echoes off the walls. He trusts Oswald to listen in with all his might, anyway. Jack finally moves his hand from where it was still stuck in between his hair strands. Slowly. He moves it to the front, turns it to one side and another for a moment in from of his eyes before closing his own palm into a fist. He feels that his vision is slightly blurry, so he closes his eyes.

This is not  _ easy. _

“This relationship… isn’t going to work out.”

He repeats what he has technically already said, it’s just the wording that is a little bit different, but the point has already been put across. Nevertheless, Oswald doesn’t interrupt, patient as ever. Jack can’t get himself to look him in the eyes just yet— this is why he has been pacing so chaotically earlier, unable to find his place and therefore unable to find the right words, either. With Oswald outside the line of his vision, the toll decreased a little, but Jack feels the best like he is right now: his eyes closed, his consciousness letting go not only of the judgmental or heartbroken gaze he’s trying to avoid but also of the rest of the room too; the wide space of the mansion is suffocating, almost as if the walls are listening in too.

Jack lets the hand clenched into a fist drop to his side, but even before this the sight of his dirty glove has already disappeared from his vision. From behind his eyelids, Jack sees nothing. Not the blood, not the dirt or remnants of clothing that got caught up in the fight and cut off, not the chain feathers. Jack winces at even just the thought of all this; they have already let this get too far, that’s why he wants at least his final words to the man to be as gentle and carefully picked and soothing as possible. He wouldn’t want to hurt Oswald any more than he has already done.

Yes, he admits it. The sense of reality never quite leaves him, that’s why he usually hates closing his eyes and being left alone merely to his own thought: because the sense of reality gets mixed in with the madness of his head, forming an ugly, incomprehensive mess. But just this once, he lets his mind wander to the good times, to places outside of this bloody mansion hall.

“...We’ve had our good times, right?”

He asks that as if to get reassurance, although he’s not sure if he wants that reassurance from Oswald or from himself. No, he does know that this is the truth. Oswald loved him. Jack can swear to them both that he loved him back, in some sort of a way, undeniably, since the moment they had met. Jack lets his mind wander to the peaceful days spent outside these walls: in the woods, by the lake, in the places where the birds would chirp their own melodies, and Jack would sing his songs as well, much to Oswald’s rare delight. He would smile, just barely, similar to the way Jack is smiling right now, only that Oswald’s smile wouldn’t be sad. Oswald had a sad heart, but his smiles were genuine, and— Jack loved him, really, everything of today is just… circumstantial. Nothing either of them can do about it.

Jack finally opens his eyes, lets out a breath he’s been holding. This is going to be alright. He’s got to be strong to show Oswald that, too, no use of beating around the bush anymore. He turns to face the man, his friend, his  _ something _ more, and starts walking towards him now, still at his even pace.

“It’s not the end of the world in the way you feel like it is.” Jack trails off at that, almost frowns, but instead chuckles slightly. “Maybe you and Miranda will make a good match, after all, and as for me—”

He’s mere steps away now and lowering himself down. The floor is cold, but the air around Oswald is somehow much colder, maybe because of how different it is from what he used to feel from the man. Jack still reaches his hand out. Touches the roots of Oswald’s hair at the back of his head like he did with his own a short while ago. Oswald lets him; he always did.

“We are just too different, you and I, you know.” Jack carries on. Now that the two of them are too close, he lets his voice go even more quiet. “After all… you are dead, and I’m… I’m still alive and kicking.” he chuckles softly. He runs his fingers up Oswald’s hair, stopping at the base of his bangs. His sad smile turns wider for a moment to deliver the finishing line. “You understand, right?”

Oswald doesn’t reply to this either. Oswald has lost the ability to form any words of his own quite a while ago.


End file.
